Final Days
by Shadowterrors
Summary: When Lestrade gets a call telling him to do a deed it almost kills him. Can he possibly carry out this horrific sequence and face losing his happiness?


Lestrade was fighting against the harsh winter wind that was trying so desperately to push him back in the opposite direction. He felt as if it was almost a sign that what he was doing was wrong, but he had to do this. He had to. Even if it broke his heart he had to do this. The moon was shining down on the pavement, reflecting his face off the waterlogged slabs. Since when had his face looked so tired? Maybe it was from the endless nights of not being able to sleep, or maybe it was from the guilt that was following him hiding in the darkest shadows it could find. He didn't know what it was but he knew that it would make him crazy if he didn't sort it out.

He continued to walk down the street. Every step was a struggle, and he felt as if he was walking backwards rather than making any progress. After about half a mile his watch alarm beeped. Eleven thirty. This was the first step towards his challenge. He knew that when he heard his alarm at half eleven, he would have to start, and then there would be no going back. Looking up from his watch he glanced around the street. Not a single person was to be seen. Not even a light from a window. All there was, was himself and the heavy burden that sat in his pocket. Pulling his phone out of his trouser pocket he dialled a number and let it ring. When the other end picked up, he spoke the words "Meet me at the pool at midnight" before swiftly hanging up, not even waiting for them to answer. He couldn't bear to hear the voice on the other end.

It would shatter him right there where he stood, but he had to do this. If he didn't someone else would, and that would be the most selfish act he had ever done. He couldn't let anyone else do this. It must be him.

The phone was still in his hand, it felt heavy and unnatural to hold it. So he quickly dropped it back in his pocket, and closed his eyes. Trying with all his strength just to forget everything. He wished that the past month hadn't happened, so he wouldn't have to do this, but it did so he had to. After five minutes he opened his eyes and sighed in defeat before setting off again.

There was still no one in the street.

Not a single soul.

He would have given anything for some company at that moment, but he knew that no one must know how he felt about this. He shouldn't be associated with them, he should have left them alone as soon as he started feeling like this.

The walk seemed endless and agonising. Thoughts and regrets were swimming through his head, drowning out any sense of what he was doing. Before he realised, he was stood at the entrance to the pool. Behind the doors lay a ghost of a memory. He had only ever been here once, and he never cared to come back. So when the call came telling him about his deed, he knew this was the place. The place that he hated, doing the thing that would kill him.

Pushing open the door he walked into the heat that clouded the room. The pool was glistening in front of him. If this was any other situation, he would have found it relaxing to look at. He might have even sat on the edge and dipped his foot in, but he couldn't. He had to stay composed. He had to be professional. Instead he walked to the edge and placed his hand on the surface of the water. Watching the ripples that formed around his palm, and letting the warmth seep through his skin. It was his moment of bliss. The small fire in a world full of ice, that seemed to be swallowing him whole. It gave him the faintest glimmer of hope, until the voice shattered it.

"I thought this day would come", the accent gave him away. There was no pretence, no front up in the way he spoke those words. It was simply him. Lestrade preferred it that way. He felt as if he knew him even more. In fact, he was beginning to trust him. Not quite with his life, but with any spoken word. Lestrade believed he wouldn't be betrayed by this man, not now. Lestrade looked up and saw his figure hiding in the darkness. He didn't see it as threatening, only as fear. He knew this man too much to know that he was nothing but scared, and he believed that he knew he was wrong to have done what he did.

"Why did you have to do this?" Lestrade asked, straightening up and turning his back. He couldn't face looking into his eyes. "Why did you take it this far. I could have covered for you at the beginning, but now I can't. They know it's you. And I have to do this." His chest started to close up and he could feel a lump rising in his throat. His pocket suddenly felt like a weight that was dragging him down to the floor, and it was taking all of his efforts to keep himself upright.

"How is it going to happen then Lestrade? Am I to face the same fate as my victims? I at least deserve to know don't you think?" His voice was so quiet and the pain was obviously there. Was he not even going to try and hide it? This was killing Lestrade. Slowly but surely.

"No" he whispered his voice barely audible. He shook his head and moved his hand into his left blazer pocket. Cold metal greeted his fingers and it gave him shivers. Like the hug from death, knowing that you are about to pass. It filled him with thoughts of anger and hate, but he pushed all that aside. He would not feel hate in the last moments he had with the man he loved.

Lestrade closed his eyes again and continued to caress the cold metal in his pocket. His fingers sliding over the shape, memorising each tiny scratch, until his fingers came over the inscription 'Lestrade'. It was written in tiny neat writing on the side of the object. The metal soon began to form into his hand, as he grasped it. A gun. Lestrade was holding a gun. He finally opened his eyes, and with a swift motion, a single tear fell from his left eye. He hated himself for having to do this.

"I think it's time then?" the voice sent echoes around the room and they all seemed to boom in Lestrade's ears. Jim Moriarty walked out of the shadows and took a few steps towards Lestrade. Only a few feet separated them now. Anyone of them could close the distance but neither of them trusted themselves enough to do so.

Lestrade bowed his head, and drew the gun from his pocket. "You gave me this" he choked, "It only seemed fair to use it". Tears were now flooding from Lestrade's eyes as he turned to face Moriarty. Jim just looked at him and took another step forward. "I understand" he smiled and reached out his hand. Lestrade resisted, he had to make sure he did fully understand before he even took one step towards him. He didn't want to make any more mistakes. "Do you though? Do you really understand why I have to do this? You killed them Jim. You killed Sherlock and John. Do you know what that means? Everyone wants you dead. I-I just- I just can't let THEM kill you. It's wrong. You should die with me." Lestrade collapsed on the spot. Falling to his knees and letting his hands fly up to his face, to hide the sobs that were escaping him.

Moriarty rushed forwards and pulled Lestrade into a hug. They were a jumbled heap on the floor. Both were crying, but Lestrade was sobbing like he had never cried before.

"I know. It's okay, I want you to do it. I wouldn't want to die any other way" Moriarty whispered the words softly into Lestrade's ear, in-between his silent sobs.

'How is he staying so strong?' Lestrade thought. It was breaking him to even do the deed, let alone to be the victim of it.

Lestrade looked up into Moriarty's face. He gazed into his eyes and did his best not to break it. In those short few seconds he felt as if he was in another place with the one he loved. Anywhere but here. Happy and complete. His hand slowly reached up to his face and he stroked Jim's chin before slowly moving up to caress his cheek.

They were still staring into each other's eyes until Moriarty leaned in. They had never kissed before. They felt as if they were cheating themselves. Neither of them wanted to feel the way they did about the other and neither wanted to be distracted from their lives. They soon learnt though that their lives were each other.

Jim's face was moving slowly, inch by inch towards Lestrade's. Testing him. Trying to see if he was repulsed by the thought of kissing him. He wasn't off course. So Lestrade pushed his hand to the back of Jim's head and pulled his face into his own. Their lips touched, and he felt all of his emotions rush into his head. They made the kiss, and Lestrade prolonged it. He didn't want to let Moriarty go. He felt wrong to. Why should he when he knew this was the happiest he has or ever would be in his life. When they finally did pull apart Lestrade kept his hand on the back of Moriarty's head, making sure that their foreheads were touching. Their noses so close they could each feel the warmth of the others breath. It really was time now.

"I'm sorry" Lestrade whispered, sending his breath into Moriarty's face. He closed his eyes and brought the gun into Jim's side. He looked up again and placed his lips onto Jim's. This time the kiss wasn't so desperate, but it was definitely love. They were both getting lost in thought again, when Lestrade collected himself and pulled the trigger. Jim took in a sharp breath and clenched Lestrade's shirt in his fingers. He caught some of his skin but he didn't care. He felt no other pain, than the agonising realisation of what he had just done. He held his breath.

"It's okay" Jim smiled faintly. His voice was so shaky; it felt as if he was ripping each single moment of joy out of Lestrade's body. "It's okay, it doesn't hurt that much".

Lestrade knew he was lying. He was only trying to make him feel better, but it didn't help. He knew that Moriarty had only minutes left and he was certain that he wasn't going to waste them. Lestrade let his body fall even further into the ground; so that Jim was lay over his legs facing him.

Moriarty was looking up at Lestrade's face. His sobbing had stopped because it hurt too much, but a few tears fell from the corner of his eyes and ran tracks down to his hairline. Lestrade caught one of them on his little finger and brought it up to his face. He stared at it for a second before rubbing it onto his lips. He then bent down and placed his lips on Jim's for the third time. It was just a peck, to let him know that he was still there with him. Their lips were still touching when Lestrade murmured the words 'I have two shots', letting his lips brush over Jim's.

Moriarty so badly wanted to tell Lestrade not to do anything to himself, and to live his life, but he couldn't. He had no strength anymore. Not even enough to shake his head or mouth the word 'NO'.

Both men sat in this position for a while. Lestrade was talking to Jim, reminding him of times that they had met in secret. Of times where they had been true to themselves and had the best time of their lives. He was just about to start a story about when they 'accidentally' bumped into each other in a Soho restaurant, when Jim's breathing began to even out. This was it.

Time for goodbye.

Lestrade bent and kissed Moriarty gently on the forehead. He would not actually say the words goodbye, because he didn't want to admit he was leaving for good. Instead he continued to kiss his face. Eventually he made his way to his lips. This kiss was so gentle and caring, and was also the last human memory that Moriarty would ever have.

Jim's body went slack in Lestrade's arms, and he began to scream in hysterics. Lestrade had no feelings. No emotions. Not anymore. He just killed part of him, and he now had no reason left to live.

2 hours later.

"Yep. Two males, both in black. No we don't know the identity as of yet. Yes one second" Anderson walked over to the blooded bodies that were lying on the floor, and carefully turned the body on top so that he could see their faces.

"Oh gosh" he whispered as he saw the face of the first man. He bowed his head and picked up the radio again.

"Jim Moriarty, sir." He took a deep breath and composed himself before he spoke the next words, "And DI. Lestrade".


End file.
